


Shaking at Your Touch (I Like You Way Too Much)

by RocketRabbits



Series: Shaking at Your Touch-verse [1]
Category: Be More Chill, Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Author is going to finish this eventually, Cuddling, Dialogue Heavy, Friends to Lovers, Gay Michael, Getting Together, M/M, Medium Burn, Not Straight Jeremy, Recreational Drug Use, Transphobia, borrows from the novel, boys having feelings, canon-typical recreational drug use, ok this is enough tags, one brief coming out scene, only in MIchael having a brother and liking weezer, or ig supportive boyf riends, supportive friends to supportive boyfriends, there might be porn later but i'll post that seperately, third person present tense, told in snapshots between the ages of 7 and 18, trans! michael
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-10-30 20:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10884294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocketRabbits/pseuds/RocketRabbits
Summary: “Hey! Wait! I don’t know your name!”The kid spins on his toes and grins back at Jeremy. He seems to grin a lot. “Call me Mikey,” he says, before a playground supervisor whistles in their direction and they both sprint to the door.Mikey, then. Mikey seems to grin a lot.OR:Snapshots into the bond between Jeremiah Heere and Michael Mell, the best friends Middle Borough had ever seen.(I'm going to finish this soon)(I'm so sorry)





	1. Pre-Squip

**Author's Note:**

> This here's pre-squip!
> 
> named for 'Falling For You' by Weezer
> 
> EDIT: Fixed formatting in first chapter, removed 2-chapter end date, removed roman numerals.

Jeremy is seven when a classmate he doesn’t know pulls a frog from his pocket and shoves it in his face.  
  
“This,” the stranger declares, nudging bright green glasses up his nose with his shoulder, both hands on the sickly looking frog, “Is our greatest enemy.”  
  
“It’s… a frog,” Jeremy says, “It looks sick. How long has it been in your pocket?”  
  
“It’s not a frog! It’s an alien, and it’s a leader, and it’s going to eat your brain without me on your side.”  
  
“Eat my brain, huh? What makes you so sure you can stop it?”  
  
The kid grins. The frog croaks weakly. “Because I’ve had him in my pocket since morning recess, and I still have my brain.”  
  
“What if that’s just what he wants me to think? Maybe he just took over your brain.”  
  
Glasses mulls this over, pulling the frog closer to his body. Jeremy waits while he thinks. “I guess that’s just a chance you’ll have to take. Is it a chance you want to take?”  
  
“Are you offering me a partner in this-“ Jeremy waves vaguely at the rest of the playground, at kids who don’t notice them and kids who don’t care. “Cold, alien-infested world?”  
  
“But I might be controlled already,” Glasses confirms.  
  
Jeremy considers for a moment longer than he really thinks about it, just for show. He thrusts out a grimy hand before he can change his mind. “I’m Jeremy Heere. I’m seven years old.”  
  
“That’s old for a first grader,” says Glasses, glancing at the frog in his hand before setting it down in the grass and reaching one hand forward to clasp Jeremy’s.  
  
“So?”  
  
“Nothing. I just noticed.” The kid grins and opens his mouth just as the bell calling them all in rings.  
  
“I’m in Mrs. Mcguire’s class,” Jeremy sputters.  
  
“I’m in Mr. Ryan’s. Meet you here tomorrow?” Jeremy nods, and Glasses is already turning to head towards his line when Jeremy realizes-  
  
“Hey! Wait! I don’t know your name!”  
  
The kid spins on his toes and grins back at Jeremy. He seems to grin a lot. “Call me Mikey,” he says, before a playground supervisor whistles in their direction and they both sprint to the door.  
  
Mikey, then. Mikey seems to grin a lot.

  
  
Jeremy’s usually calm face is cold when Mikey finds him before school a few weeks later. At least he hopes it is, because he snuck into the bathroom after lights out to practice his glare in the mirror.  
  
“Hey, buddy! It’s too early to look so glum, what’s wrong?”  
  
“You’re a liar, Mikey. If that’s even your name. Which I know it isn’t.”  
  
Mikey’s own grin falters into one of betrayed confusion. “What do you mean? Of course it’s my name. Why would I lie to my partner in crime about my own name?”  
  
“I know you did! Because my mom called your mom to see if we could play this weekend and your mom didn’t know who Mikey even was!”  
  
Mikey’s eyes widen, face drained. “Oh.”  
  
“Yeah, Oh.”  
  
“Um, have you ever gotten the wrong flavor ice cream?”  
  
“What?” Jeremy asks, “yeah? But we’re talking-“  
  
“That other name is the wrong ice cream flavor. Mikey’s what I wanted, but I couldn’t ask for it ‘cause I wasn’t born.”  
  
“Are you still lying to me?”  
  
“Swear I’m not. Stick a needle in my eye.” Mikey mimes this, then, dramatically inching a rather large imaginary needle slowly into his retina, gasping in imaginary pain. Jeremy giggles.  
  
  
“No, wait! I don’t want a blind partner for the alien invasion. I’ll need all the help I can get.”  
  
  
“I’m already mostly blind,” Mikey shrugs, aiming to keep Jeremy’s smile instead of the glare he had before, “I bet if I went totally blind, I’d be mega good at hearing. We could still fight those monsters from miles away.”  
  
  
  
“Call him Mikey,” Jeremy reminds his mother over and over in the hours preceding the first time one will be at the other’s house. “That’s his ice cream flavor.”  
  
“I’ll do that.”  
  
“And he doesn’t see good, so he has to leave his glasses on.”  
  
“I can’t imagine asking him to take them off.”  
  
“Mom,” Jeremy sighs, way too serious for his small body to hold, “He’s my best friend. You gotta like him.”  
  
She cards her hand through his already lengthening hair and offers the barest reassuring smile. "It'll be fine, dear. It's just a friend."  
  
But it wasn't just a friend. It was Mikey. His best friend in the world.  
  
Mikey grabs his hand the moment Jeremy opens the door, grinning and bouncing on his heels. "Hey, buddy! What's your favourite thing to do?"  
  
He's overshadowed by a hand on his shoulder, gentle and steadying.  
  
"Hey, now, introduce me," his mother chides. "Who is this?"  
  
Mikey rolls his eyes, because it's really so obvious, isn't it? "Mama, this is Jeremy. Jeremy, this is Mama."  
  
Jeremy's mother inches behind them, and he turns. "Oh, um, mom, this is Mikey, and this is my mom."  
  
Mikey offers his quick hello before Jeremy drags him off by the wrist, calling something about action figures behind him.  
  
  
  
"So," Michael - no longer Mikey, not now that they're seventh graders - starts late into their evening, "I, uh, think I’m going on puberty blockers."  
  
"Oh, yeah?" Jeremy's never known how to answer topics like these. "What'll those do?"  
  
"Basically what it says on the box. It'll stop all this," Michael gestures vaguely to his entire person, "biological stuff from getting any farther until, y'know, it can do it right."  
  
Jeremy nods. "So, are you gonna stay scrawny?"  
  
"What the hell? Rude."  
  
"No, dude, serious question."  
  
"Yeah, because that makes it nicer. Um, yeah. I guess I might."   
  
"If I get any bigger - stop laughing, it could happen- I'll look out for you. Y'know. Protect you from jerks."  
  
"Oh?" Michael smirks behind pink cheeks. "Can't do it myself?"  
  
"No, just. I want to, if I can."  
  
"Right. And if you don't get bigger?"  
  
"Well," Jeremy scoffs, "obviously then you won't need me. I'll need you to protect me."  
  
"I already protect you."  
  
"Not from, like, being beat up."  
  
Michael's smirk disappears. "Jeremy, are you saying you actually get beat up?"  
  
"What? Oh, no," Jeremy backpedals, "just that. I will. If you need it."  
  
Michael, flattered, bursts out laughing. "Oh my God. That's- that's so gay, dude. We both say a lot of gay stuff, but that takes the cake. Oh man. I love you, buddy."  
  
"What? That was way gayer."  
  
"Um, no. I said buddy. That negates the gay."  
  
"That's not how that works."  
  
"Weird, because I just did it that way. C'mon, we got another round?"  
  
The blockers don’t happen when they should have, something vaguely explained to Jeremy as misunderstandings between Michael and his parents or his parents and the doctors, but he says it like he doesn’t believe it was a misunderstanding at all, so Jeremy doesn’t pry, and six months later when 14 year old Michael towers over Jeremy, neither is completely sure if it should have been that way.  
  
"I don't tower," Michael scoffs when Jeremy whines, "I've got like four inches on you, tops."  
  
"Tower," Jeremy insists. "When are you gonna stop growing?"  
  
"I dunno? When are you just gonna- oh my God. Dude. Get on my back."  
  
"I'm not gonna get on your back."  
  
"Oh yeah?" Michael waggles his eyebrows and shuts his locker a little too hard for the empty hallway. Jeremy flinches. "Why not, scared of heights?"  
  
"More scared of your arms giving out. I know how many videogames you play. And do nothing else."  
  
"Yikes."  
  
"Uh, but. Are you for real?"  
  
"I can be! Want a ride?"  
  
"Honestly, kind of. I haven't ridden anyone's back since I was a kid."   
  
Michael grins and throws his backpack to the floor, hunching slightly so Jeremy can heave himself up. His bony arms secure tightly around Michael’s neck as he stands straighter.

“You okay?”  
  
“You’re gonna drop me,”  
  
“Have a little more faith! Goddamn.” Michael laughs when he says it, hitching Jeremy higher onto his back with a little more effort than he’d like to admit. “So? How’s the world from up there?”

“C’mon man I’m not that short.”  
  
“Do you think I can take off down the hallway with you on my back?”  
  
“Michael,” Jeremy warns, “Michael, do not. I’m still not sure I’m safe here.”

“No, no, this is totally happening. Too late.” Michael hitches Jeremy up again, and Jeremy just clings tighter. “I’ve had you up for, like, fifteen seconds, and you’re still alive. Hold tight, man.”

“Michael, wait,”  
  
“What’re you _girls_ squealin’ about over- Oh. My bad, just the one girl, then.”

Michael spins around, a little wobbly with Jeremy still clinging to his neck. “Whaddya want, man?”

It’s a jock Jeremy doesn’t really know. He doesn’t really know any jocks, so that isn’t _so_ surprising, but still. A total stranger picking on them is pretty new.  
  
“Leave us alone,” Michael warns, hurt in a way Jeremy isn’t sure the jock can hear, but he definitely can. He tightens his grip ever so slightly. “We’re not hurting anyone, just walk away.”  
  
“Should have figured the two of you would end up together,” the other kid continues. “A fag so desperate he’ll date a girl who thinks she’s one.”

“Walk _away_ ,” Michael hisses, and mercifully, the bully doesn’t seem to have much else to say. He throws his hands up, mutters something about waiting until he finds some other nerdy queer, and Michael rolls his eyes as he backs off.  
  
“Jesus. Some guys, right?” Jeremy doesn’t answer, face buried in the back of Michael’s neck. “Dude? You okay?”  
  
“I was supposed to protect you and I froze,” Jeremy says, and it’s muffled, but Michael hears it.  
  
“Don’t worry about it. I’m taller than you, aren’t I? Wasn’t that the deal?”

“I mean, technically.”  
  
“So don’t sweat it! I’m still taking off down this hallway.”  
  
“I kinda thought you’d forget about that.”  
  
“Hah! Never. Hold on tight.”

 

They’re sixteen on a ratty loveseat in Michael’s basement passing a joint between them in near silence, save for some soft soundtrack before them. It’s… Weezer, maybe. If he’s honest, Jeremy has very little knowledge of what music Michael actually listens to. Michael leans against the arm of the couch, his legs arched over Jeremy’s lap. His arms drape over Michael’s thighs, and neither pay particular attention to the contact.

“I’ve never, uh,” Jeremy starts, and Michael waves him off, blowing smoke out before he speaks.  
  
“I know. I’m not judging you for coughing, if that’s what you’re worried about.”  
  
“Just. I shouldn’t be surprised the first time is with you, I guess.”

Michael smiles a lazy kind of smile, maybe only a little lazier than his usual grin. “What’re friends for?”

Jeremy isn’t sure how or if he’s supposed to answer, so he doesn’t, instead taking in the relative silence. This isn’t Weezer, not anymore. “What’re we listening to?”  
  
“Ah,” Michael squints like that’ll turn the music up. “Maybe… DEVO?”  
  
“You listen to DEVO?”  
  
“I turned someone else’s mix on. Thank God for Spotify.”

They fall into a lull, silence broken only by gentle exhales and someone over the speaker quietly announcing they’re through being cool. A confession rattles around behind Jeremy’s teeth, something he thought he’d chicken out of ever actually announcing, but now’s as good a time as ever.

“I’m. Not straight,” Jeremy says, and Michael almost quirks an eyebrow at the spontaneity of the confession.

“That’s cool,” Michael says. “Anyone in mind particularly, or?”

Jeremy sighs, shaky and like he didn’t want Michael to know he was holding a breath. Michael hears it anyway. “Woah, you didn’t actually expect me to react any other way, did you?”

“No,” Jeremy answers, “still scary as hell, though.”

“You know I’m gay, right?”

“I. Figured something along those lines, yeah.”

“I can’t believe we’re both queer. Do you think six year old me had some kind of gaydar? Operating way ahead of either of us?”  
  
“I think six year old you was lonely with a frog in your pocket.”  
  
“That frog was my friend, actually. I could not have been lonely with such a nice frog at my side.”  
  
“You told me he was an alien invader?”  
  
“Right. But he didn’t control my brain, so that makes him a buddy.”  
  
Jeremy nods, like, yeah, of course that’s the logical answer. “Always good to have a buddy on the inside.”  
  
“See? And we _both_ have a buddy on the inside. And also, apparently, mad queer-detecting skills.”   
  
“Oh my God,” Jeremy laughs, clapping his hand excitedly against Michael’s thighs, “What if the frog gave you a gaydar?”  
  
Michael considers this for a moment, long enough that Jeremy prods his chest to make sure he’s still awake. He hums against the couch. “No more for you, I think.”  
  
“Dude, just entertain this frog thing.”  
  
“Can all frogs give anyone the Queer Sense?”

“We’re gonna need a catchier name.” Jeremy prods Michael again, harder this time. “C’mon, dude. Turn this music off, we’ve got some discussing to do.”

 

 

Michael calls an hour before they’re supposed to meet up at Jeremy’s. “Sorry, dude,” he says, “I can’t make it.”

“Oh,” Jeremy answers, and it’s partly disappointment, but mostly concern. “Are you feeling okay?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, just. Kind of a chest cold and I can’t wear my binder and it’s a bad day for leaving the house without it. I’m so sorry, Jeremy. I’ll make it up to you.”  
  
“No, no,” he reassures before Michael can get his full apology out, “It’s totally fine. I understand.” He pauses. “If you want I can just come over instead? We can watch movies or something.”

 

He can almost hear Michael grin through the phone, “Oh man you don’t have to, but that’d be sick. Got a request?”  
  
“We’ll figure it out when I get there.”

Jeremy arrives twenty minutes later with a convenience store bag of chips, Sprite, and cough drops. He probably already had cough drops, Jeremy thinks, but he feels kind of guilty about bringing a sick kid junk food and he thought he should make an effort.  
  
Michael’s brother answers the door. “You’re the nerd,” He says.  
  
“Yeah. Nice to see you back. Hope school’s going well. Is, uh,”  
  
“She’s downstairs,” his brother offers, stepping aside so Jeremy can come in. “Sorry,” he mutters as an afterthought, “ _He’s_ downstairs.”

Jeremy isn’t sure why he thought anything else, but he toes off his shoes and nods uncomfortably at Michael’s brother before he makes his way downstairs. “Michael,” he says to the closed door, almost bringing his knuckles to it.  
  
“Come in, dude. Close it behind you.”

Jeremy does, cringing a little as it shuts louder than he meant it to, before turning to Michael.  
  
He doesn’t look as sick as Jeremy thought he would, hunched over his laptop, huge sweatshirt hanging off his fuller frame. “Yo,” Michael says, not looking up. “I’ve been looking through flicks. Have we seen _Night of the Living Dead_ together yet?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jeremy answers, “And _Dawn_. But not the 2005 version.”  
  
“Do we wanna watch the 2005 version?”  
  
“We could laugh at it.”

Michael nods, seriously considering it. “Yeah, that’s solid. I’ll pull it up.” It’s only then that he glances up to see Jeremy. “What’s in the bag?”  
  
“Junk food,” Jeremy says casually. “Chips. Also? I brought you cough drops. Said you had a chest cold, right?”  
  
“Oh my God, Jeremy. I think I might be a little bit in love with you.”  
  
 Jeremy’s pretty sure he flushes. “Uh?”  
  
Michael’s quick to avoid his eyes. “Thank you, is what I’m saying.  You okay with sharing a laptop screen? I don’t know if I can hook this up to the entertainment system.”

Jeremy moves to crawl in beside him before he even answers. “Yeah, dude, that’s fine. You’re not contagious, are you?”  
  
“I might be,” Michael answers honestly. “What, scared of a chest cold?”  


Jeremy rolls his eyes. “The things I do for you, man. Just play the film.”

“Didn’t they used to play this on MTV?” Jeremy asks about twenty minutes in. “I feel like they did.”  
  
Michael hums from his place on Jeremy’s shoulder. “Mmm, maybe. I’m not really a big MTV fan to know.”  
  
His words half slur, and Jeremy glances down to see Michael almost asleep curled into Jeremy’s side. “Dude, do you want me to go?”  
  
Michael’s brow furrows. “No, stay. Warm.”  
  
“I’m not disturbing your sleep?”  
  
“Not sleepin’,” Michael answers through a yawn, “Not yet. You ok?”  
  
“Yeah, if you are. Just,” Jeremy shifts, pulling the half asleep arm Michael was leaning on out from under him. Michael barely reacts, just falls closer into Jeremy’s side.  
  
Of course, now that he’s freed his arm, he isn’t sure what to do with it. Michael doesn’t have a headboard he can throw it against, and just splaying it out to the side seems uncomfortable. Jeremy glances at his almost certainly dozing best friend and ever so hesitantly wraps his arm around his back, just beneath his shoulder blades. His hand hangs uselessly off to the side, then, and that’s kind of weird, so he brings it back up to idly tangle in the hair near the base of Michael’s neck. This is weird, too, definitely weird, and he clears his throat. “Um. Is this. Okay?” Michael ‘hmms’ like he isn’t really awake enough to pay attention, but he doesn’t seem to shake the action, and it’s kind of… nice, even if it is weird, so he keeps his hand that way, toying idly in Michael’s wavy hair, half watching the movie.  
  
If Michael’s brother finds them that way later, curled into each other and asleep while credits roll, nobody has to know he shut the door more quietly than he’d opened it, and tells their mother Michael’d gone out after all.


	2. Post-Squip Part 1: Some Gayass Pining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh I thought this would be the last chapter but surprise it isnt!!!
> 
> I dropped the roman numeral format because this is all within, like, a few weeks of each other?? So it didnt. make sense to me. to keep them separated like they were years apart like in chapter one.
> 
> Also! This does have a brief but detailed description of a panic attack. It starts at 'God, what to say for Christine' and ends at 'Are you free right now'. Stay safe, yall.

Jeremy arrives and hesitates at Michael’s doorstep. Once upon a time, maybe, he’d have just knocked and pushed the door open himself, sure that nobody but Michael’s brother would be there to cast a glance, and after twelve years, he wouldn’t. Then again, once upon a time Jeremy hadn’t been the irredeemable douche he had been lately, so maybe new actions were called for. He settles for knocking, bringing one shaky, loose fist to the naked wood.

Nobody answers at first, and after fifteen seconds Jeremy triple-checks the driveway for Michael’s car. Just Michael’s sits up at the garage. He knocks again. Twenty-five seconds. His brother must be back at college. Jeremy steps down and checks the time; seven oh eight, a solid eight minutes after they had agreed on. He backs up a little off the porch and down the sidewalk, checking the windows for any light. A curtain wafts in an upstairs window enough for Jeremy to catch the faintest hint of a black sweatshirt moving behind it. Cold, late-November wind blows through his thin jacket, and he resists a shiver. It’s his own damn fault for dressing like September was yesterday.

Jeremy pulls his phone out of his pocket and steps back onto the porch, sending a quick text to Michael.

_TO: MICHAEL (7:09 PM) Hey im here nobodys answering the door?_

He receives no answer and slips his phone back in his pocket at seven ten. He isn’t sure when he started biting his lips, but he tastes a bit of iron on his tongue.

  
Finally, mercifully, just as he shifts to go, footsteps. The door swings open. Michael glares past Jeremy’s shoulder, mumbling something about _Goddamn Gabriel_ before his eyes focus on Jeremy. He smiles, visibly relaxing, even though his shoulders stay hunched. “Hey, buddy. Sorry, had kind of an important phone call.”

“Were you upstairs?” Jeremy asks, toeing his sneakers off by the door. Michael has a bedroom upstairs, technically, but he always spent so much time in the basement guest room that they tended to use the upstairs for company.

“Ah, yeah. Been sleeping there more lately.”  
“Is? That where you want me to leave my backpack?”

Michael looks at Jeremy for a minute, like he doesn’t really believe he asked. Like he doesn’t really believe he’s here. “Nah, we’ll probably crash downstairs.”

Jeremy nods, fidgety, and follows Michael down. He’s immediately bombarded by the scent of weed, strong and no doubt already sunk into his clothes. Jeremy can’t tell if the smell’s gotten worse or if he’s gotten less used to it.  
  
“Sorry,” Michael offers, clearly not actually sorry but knowing he should acknowledge it, “I’ve had the house to myself, keep forgetting to break out an air freshener.”

Jeremy snickers, plopping into a beanbag. “Was that the agenda for tonight?”

“No, man, we’re behind in _Damned_. Focus goes there first.”

“Riiiight. We did beat Cafetorium, right?”

“Yeah, we got through ten, pretty sure. Lemme just set up quick.” Michael crouches in front of the television, switching one out of date console for another. They fall into a silence that should be comfortable, except Jeremy can’t shake a question.

“Who,” Jeremy stops himself, gathers his nerve, “who’s Gabriel?”

Michael barely glances up from setting up the game system. “What?”

“I heard you grumbling about Gabriel when I walked in. I’ve. You’ve never mentioned a Gabriel is all.”

Michael stiffens a little unnaturally before he turns back with his usual lazy half-smile, handing Jeremy his controller. “Oh, just a mistake I keep making, don’t worry about it.”  
  
_A mistake._ Michael had never called his worst enemy a mistake. “Are you sure? You can talk about it.”

Michael sighs and clicks through the opening montage. “He’s my boyfriend, kind of.”  
  
“When’d you get a boyfriend?”  
  
“Um,” Michael hasn’t looked at Jeremy, and maybe it’s weird that Jeremy is still looking at Michael, so he doesn’t focus on how Michael hasn’t been looking. He fails miserably. “Early October, maybe? Sorry I didn’t tell you. You were…. Otherwise occupied.”  
  
“Wow,” Jeremy says, and it’s supposed to sound like a joke, but it betrays the hurt that steals the air from his lungs, “You replaced me?”  
  
“Hey, man, I wanted you to be part of it. You turned your weird vision blocking on _in front of me_ ,” he holds a finger up to Jeremy’s half-voiced whine, “which I know wasn’t exactly your idea, so don’t apologise, but I thought I was dismissed.”

“Okay. That’s. Fair.” Jeremy tries to focus on the game in silence, but he fails again, and Michael isn’t carrying his own weight enough to survive. The game over screen flashes while the death animation loops, and Michael sighs, setting down his controller.  
  
“Dude, is there something you’d like to talk about? We can’t play like this.”

“What do you mean, he’s kind of your boyfriend?” Is the good and eloquent way Jeremy had meant to say it, but what came out was more like one long sound in a single breath: _whaddayameankinda_?

“What? What do- oh. Gabriel? It isn’t a big deal.”  
  
“I missed it the first time, tell me now.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, okay? I get it. I know you were going through shit. I don’t hold it against you. Gabriel’s just. We’re breaking up, I think. It’s kind of atomic.”  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
“Tired, mostly.”  
  
“I can leave,” Jeremy makes to set his controller down, and only gets that far before he realizes he really, _really_ , doesn’t want to, but doesn’t know what he should do if he stays, either. He’s never been as good at this cheering up thing as Michael was, and he’d never really had a breakup to draw empathy from. All he had was concern, really. Concern he couldn’t spin into something useful.

 

“Dude, don’t. I’ve missed you too much. You don’t gotta cheer me up or anything, alright? I just want you around.” Jeremy doesn’t move at first, but when Michael makes no move to say anything else, he gingerly takes the controller back in his hands. Michael’s looking at him now, and he smiles just the slightest bit at the action. “Alright. Feelings out? Can we beat this level tonight?”  
  
Jeremy grins. “Man, we better.”

 

 “How goes it with Christine? You haven’t talked about her in a while.” Michael breaks a previously comfortable silence in the mall food court a few days later, and Jeremy almost chokes on a chili fry. “Jesus, dude. I asked about your girlfriend, not your drug habit.”  
  
“No, yeah,” Jeremy gasps between sips of Pepsi, “You just don’t really ask about her.”  
  
“Sorry to startle you. Not one to pry I guess.”  
  
Jeremy snorts. “Yes, you are. Thanks for not, though.”  
  
“Didn’t answer me, I noticed.”  
  
“Right, yeah.” Christine. How is it going with Christine? Well enough, probably. Jeremy adores her, it’s three years of dreams come true. Why did it feel weird to say so, though? “I don’t know. I think it’s going well. I don’t really have anything to compare it to.”  
  
“After two months I think you’d know if something were wrong, right? Prior experience notwithstanding?”

  
“No, yeah,” Jeremy agrees quickly, “Just that. I think I mighta. Put her too much on a pedestal. And I fucked it up before it even started. If that makes sense.”  
  
Michael hums. “Yeah, sort of. Have you told her?”  
  
“Doesn’t seem to be interfering yet. I don’t want her to leave over it.”  
  
“Pretty important thing to leave over, though.”  
  
“I know, I know, just. I’m trying really hard now, I think it’s working.” It is working, mostly. He doesn’t see her as a goal, doesn’t think her presence will make him less of a loser, just. Maybe a loser that’s happier with it. Then again his new friend group seems to be some of the most popular kids in school, and he only sometimes questions whether or not they want him around, so maybe he didn’t end up having to be okay with loserdom at all.  
  
Michael holds his gaze level, shitty mall stand chicken cooling on a fork halfway to his mouth. Jeremy has some trouble looking him in the eyes, these days, partially because guilt hangs over him, a pressure on his shoulders heavier than the Squip’s standards ever managed to be, but partially because Michael never looks at him the right way anymore. He always sort of looks like he’s biting his tongue, holding half of his thoughts back for reconsideration. Worse yet, Jeremy isn’t sure he wants to hear it all, anyway.

Maybe he is still just a coward.  
  
“Are you happy?” Michael asks, and it’s so not what he expected that Jeremy might actually recoil.

“Excuse me?”  
  
“Are you happy with Christine? Like, really, actually happy?”  
  
“I?” Jeremy stutters. “Yeah, I guess. I think so. Yes. For the most part.”  
  
Michael nods and chews his chicken slowly. “Good,” he says, mouth full, “Then everything’ll be just fine.”

 

Jeremy finds himself alone the next day, something he hasn’t really been in a long time. He hasn’t been seeing Christine as much – community play takes up a lot of spare time – and Michael had excused himself immediately after school, sighing something about Gabriel, again. He drops his backpack by the door, rolling into bed with a huff. His dad isn’t home from the office, and the silence is kind of nice.

Michael’s told him not to worry about it more times than Jeremy really has worried about it, so maybe he doesn’t have to know how much time Jeremy’s spent just _thinking_ about it. Objectively. Not passing judgement, not speculating on why they’re breaking up and who’s making it so hard, just. Some basics. Like what Gabriel feels holding Michael’s hands, holding Michael. Are they as soft as they look? Do their hands align perfectly, or does it take a lot of maneuvering to be comfortable? Do they even hold hands? Is Michael a hand-holding kind of guy? He’s a casually touchy kind of friend, Jeremy guesses, always grabbing shoulders and pulling him into half hugs. He probably holds hands. Jeremy spreads his fingers on the pillow beside him, wondering.

Would his hands fit with Michael’s? Would Michael mind that they were kinda weird and sweaty and bonier than they should be? Would he mind if Jeremy’s chin dug into his shoulder if they, like, shared a beanbag playing videogames? If Michael slouched low in between Jeremy’s legs, elbows digging into his equally thin thighs, would he think it was weird that Jeremy kind of loved that he could sync their breathing? Would Michael notice if he synced their breathing? Would-

So maybe he isn’t really speculating about Gabriel anymore, but what does it matter anyway? It’s not the first time he’s had gay thoughts about Michael. Jeremy’s had fleeting gay thoughts about Michael as long as he’s known him.  It’s not that they’re there, it’s that they’re suddenly… Pervasive. Jeremy finds he can’t be around Michael without imagining kissing him at least once, without having to hold his own hand back from pushing Michael’s glasses further onto his nose or brushing stray dandruff flakes out of his hair. It’s the nicest daydreams he’s ever had.

Then again, Christine.

God, what to say for Christine? He does adore her, really; she’s intelligent and sweet, and even if she weren’t she’d still be the loveliest girl Jeremy had ever seen. Kissing her doesn’t feel like magic. Jeremy doesn’t really believe in Hollywood’s kisses, the ones you remember for lifetimes, the ones that feel like sparks. He doesn’t believe in kisses that feel like magic, but he knows it should feel better than this. Kissing Brooke and Chloe had been worse, but he’d never had interest in them anyway, so maybe it’s not a fair comparison. And he’d never kissed Michael to know. Maybe, Jeremy panics, sitting up and running his fingers along his own scalp in frustration, for once not self-conscious about his own ridiculous amount of dandruff, maybe he’s just doing the same thing he did to Christine to Michael. Maybe he’s idolizing what he can’t have just so he feels like he can have something to reach for.

So, what if he does leave Christine? What if he leaves Christine and, for some reason, Michael forgives him, Michael whose shoulders are always tense now and whose grin is just a bit less genuine, Michael who panicked at a party and Jeremy hadn’t just let it _happen,_ no, he had been the _cause_ , by some miracle, maybe Michael wants Jeremy, too. And maybe Jeremy realizes he doesn’t really want Michael at all, just what he can’t have, and then he ruins it even worse and loses him for good. He can’t risk it.

He’s hyperventilating, he realizes, bringing his hands out of his hair and to his chest, but realizing his breathing is irregular is only making it worse, and tears sting his eyes and he can only imagine the ugly face he’s making, teeth bared in an attempt to both hold in sobs catching in his throat and bring in more air, eyes scrunched and watery, face splotchy. He falls backward, curling into the pillow he’d been zoning out at minutes before. God. Look at Jeremy Heere, the disaster who wasn’t satisfied with one world he couldn’t ever hope to deserve, crying that he can’t have another.

He tenses, waiting for a familiar sneer. He’s not sure if he imagines it when it does come, these days, menacing and faint. Jeremy hugs his pillow tighter, attempts to steady his breathing enough to properly sob, if he’s going to keep hiccupping like he is, and the squip never comes. It takes about ten minutes to stop crying and fifteen to steady his breathing enough that his hands don’t shake when he reaches for his phone. He wants to call Michael, to ask him if he’s worth loving at all and hear his static-y laugh on the other end _of course you are, Jeremy,_ but he doesn’t think he could take it right now, really, and Christine is out of the question, leaving only one person.

He unlocks his phone, taking a moment to let his chest warm at his background (A selfie collage Brooke had thrown together for him; ones of Jeremy and Christine, Jeremy and Michael, and the entire squad that Jake took with a selfie stick he stole from Chloe) before pulling up Rich’s messages. He scrolls up a bit, past idle jokes, out of context memes, plans to hang out and questions about homework to one message he locked the first week of November.

_FROM: RICH (11:55 PM) het if you ever wanna talk abt all this or anything really im here man I s2g im done harassing you_

Trusting Rich, the little he does, doesn’t come naturally. Every part of Jeremy screams to abandon this idea, just listen to music until he calms down completely and tell Michael about it the next time he sees him, _something_ that gets him out of talking to Rich. Even still, he does trust him. A little bit. Enough to know he’s the only other person that could really identify with his experience, and to heal, it has to be enough.

_TO: RICH (5:15 PM) hey are you free right now?_

A week later and he isn’t any clearer on what he has to do, but he doesn’t really have the time to overthink when Michael pulls into his driveway.

“Get in, dude,” Michael calls out his car window when Jeremy shuts his door behind him, “We’re going to GameStop.”  


Jeremy rolls his eyes, sprinting down the walkway to get to Michael’s car. “Jesus, hush up, will you?”  
  
“What? Yell louder?” Michael squeaks it only a little louder than his normal speaking voice, and Jeremy shoves him. “Yiiiiikes,” Michael whistles, “Packin’ the punch now, man.”  
  
“Shut up, I am not.”  
  
“ ‘S all that time with Rich, dude. He’s a good influence on muscle development, if nothing else.”  


“Pfft, what? Are you my dad? I don’t spend that much time with Rich, anyway. It’s, like, Christine and Brooke.”

“Dude,” Michael grins, not taking his eyes off the road. “I’m so proud of you.”  
  
“Jesus, enough!” Jeremy’s sure he’s blushing, but he’s laughing, and Michael’s laughing, and that’s good enough. “You sound like you’re in a good mood today.”  
  
“Chyeah,”  
  
“Chyeah?”  
  
“Shut up. Check under your seat.”

So Jeremy does, a little hesitantly reaching under the seat, absolutely prepared to touch some gross leftovers that hadn’t been cleaned out since the last time they went to Texas Roadhouse, or something. What his hand brushed, though, was one of what felt like six or seven cans of. Something. “The cans?”  
  
Michael nods, bouncing a little in his seat. Times like these, Jeremy wishes he had his own driver’s license. “Pull one out.”  
  
Jeremy does, bending his arm a little awkwardly to fit it out from under the seat. It’s taller than most soda cans, a kind of spring green with a huge orange logo. “What’s… Surge?”  
  
  
Michael whoops. “Yeah, man! Coke’s answer to Mountain Dew. Discontinued in the early 2000s.”  
  
Jeremy’s never really been sure if it’s the soda or the antiquity that Michael likes. He doesn’t go searching out other retro snacks, so he guesses it might be both. “And you’ve just got the cans laying around in your car?”  
  
“No, man, that’s the cool part. _They brought it back._ ”  
  
“Is? That as cool as the old stuff?”  
  
“No way. But the ability to compare taste is. I never had this stuff when it was out. Parents still cared about my health and shit.” Michael rolls his eyes. “Found that in a gas station, like, twenty minutes ago. It has been a spectacular morning.”  
  
“That’s really cute,” Jeremy says, before he can stop himself. He can immediately feel his face go red.

“Save it for your girlfriend, Jeremy,” Michael teases, and this time he does take his eyes completely off the road, at least long enough to see Jeremy inch his sweatshirt sleeves further over his hands, curling his fingers around the cuffs and shoving them in between his legs. “You doing okay?”  
  
“Ah, yeah,” he curses himself for being so obvious, “Just a little stressed. I wanna hear about your weird retro shit, it’s okay.” He can’t make himself look at Michael, and he almost laughs at the irony of usually not being able to look _away_.

“I got you, y’know. If you gotta vent or freak or anything.”  
  
“I know. Thank you. Let’s have one day without any real heavy topics, yeah?”  
  
Michael snorts. “Kinda been a theme lately, huh? Okay. I won’t bring it up. But tell me if you need something, got it?”

“I need you to focus more on driving before we _die_ , actually.” He reaches for Michael’s phone in the center console. “Can I turn music on?”  
  
“You know why I like you, Jeremy?” Jeremy’s hands freeze and his heart speeds up and goddamn, he’s going to have to settle this quickly. “You never ask to steal my goddamn aux cord.”

He thinks if he said it Michael would call him cheesey, but Jeremy kind of thinks the sound of them laughing together is better than anything he could play.

 

 

He really, _really_ , has to settle this, though. It doesn’t feel fair to anyone involved to not be sure of himself, even if they don’t know about his own indecisiveness. It’d been easier with a robot making decisions, as disastrous as they were, and he catches himself over and over half wondering if he’d be better off trying again – but then he sits straight with a jolt, misses a texts and wonders what else he hasn’t been seeing-

No. He’ll be fine on his own.  
  
But he won’t be fine alone.  
  
  
“Hey, son,” his dad calls from the couch when he comes in. “Good day?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jeremy answers noncommittally. “Nothing exciting.” He pads into the kitchen debating whether or not he’s actually going to initiate this after school special disaster of a father-son conversation.

His father hasn’t moved when he comes back, so he hands him a Miller Lite and plops down onto the couch across from the chair. It’s silent until commercial, mostly, aside from occasional comments by his dad.

 

Jeremy opens his mouth when commercials start, hoping he can either get a satisfactory answer in three minutes or that it’ll be important enough that they can have the whole conversation straight through. Dad, he’ll say, what do I do when I don’t know what to do? Maybe he’ll put all his cards on the table, like, hey, dad, I don’t think I’m really a good fit for Christine but I’m too scared to move but I’m contorted over this boy by the way I’m not straight. He stares at the ceiling when he makes his voice work and says “Dad, the sheer amount of teen drama I’ve seen in the past two months seems… wildly disproportionate to my peers.”

 

“Huh,” his dad says, clearly listening, not sure how to answer. “I’m, uh, sure sorry to hear that, son. Wanna…. Talk it out, or something?” He seems like he wants to pass it over to Jeremy’s mother, by the furtive glances right through Jeremy, part out of some archaic belief that women would know better, maybe, but also partly out of desperation. He didn’t sign up for feelings talks. Even now, after trying harder to be Dad, he isn’t sure he knows what to do.

Jeremy lets his head roll over to look at his father, still occasionally looking for another person on the couch, still not aware Jeremy is squinting at him. _This is where I get my emotional intelligence_ , he thinks idly. “I, uh,” his voice sticks somewhere below his adam’s apple. “I think maybe I just wanted to tell you. Thanks.”  
  
“Of course, Jeremy,” his dad answers, relieved.

Jeremy rolls off the couch and pads upstairs. If he really wanted, he could probably give Michael a barebones account for the sake of advice, and if he asked nicely enough Michael wouldn’t even pry. He couldn’t ask Chloe or Brooke, because one would tell the other and they’d talk about it and Jenna would overhear and it would get back to Christine before it was supposed to and make a bigger mess than it really needed to be.

 

He groans as he slides into his desk chair, planning mostly to aimlessly browse the web to think about something else. He’d cut his losses and follow his gut, he thinks, if his gut would make up its mind. But today with his dad, and a few days ago with Michael, his mouth seemed to be doing fine on its own.

He clicks on a gaming website, musing that only a few months ago it most definitely would have been some weird porn. He guesses he can, now, again, but if he’s honest, he’s not sure he wants to know how much of the squip’s reprimands would stick around. He hasn’t really wanted to, either.

 

It’s settled, then. Let his mouth make up his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao I went into this thinking I was gonna project more on michael but nOPE  
> I want the answer to be polyamory but also I don't think Jeremy and Christine could actually have a functional relationship for too long at all. I think he spent three years idolising her only to go to a really ridiculous length to get her attention and I don't think he could handle it, so I definitely don't think he could date both of them, y'know? Maybe, like, five years in the future. But definitely not two months.
> 
> thanks for reading!!!! Should only take one or two more chapters for them to smooch. 
> 
> up next: Christiiiiiiiiiine


	3. post-squip part 2: the thrilling crescendo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine! Then Michael! A lot of dialogue bc i love communication!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's one am i wrote this to calm down from a panic attack lmao
> 
>  
> 
> Ok so i realise this doesnt fit the Format tm the next chapter will. I think the nect chapter should also be the last.

Christine makes the decision for him, and Jeremy is a little bit tired of having his life taken out of his hands.

It is a beautiful day for a walk in the park. Well, no, it's lousy; it rain-snowed the whole day before, it's windy, and they haven't seen the sun in at least four days. But Christine said it was beautiful because Jeremy had suggested it when he showed up at her house and then immediately gone a charming shade of scarlet when he realised what a dumb suggestion it really was. She laughed at him, but it didn't even really feel like laughing at him, and then grabbed her jacket and shut the door behind her.

"You don't have to humor me," Jeremy says when they've already arrived because it took half the walk for him to convince himself he could say it at all, still a far cry from a month ago when he couldn't. "I didn't really think about it ahead of time."

 

"Nah," Christine says, and the wind kind of ruffles her jacket, and she only shivers a little. "I've never been on a rainy park date before. This is some A-grade creativity. Great job, Jeremy."

She's laughing at him again, but in a way that makes his heart jitter kind of pleasantly, like it's never really been jokingly teased but already loves the feeling. "Well," he says, half-bowing with a bit of an unplanned flourish, "I, uh, certainly try." They're quiet for a couple of seconds, walking side by side, not quite touching, on a little nature trail that winds the edge of the park. "How's your play coming?" Christine's in a community theatre production of _Little Shop of Horrors_. She's a small part, some ensemble member, maybe, but she's still as dedicated as she would be if she were the star.

"It's going well! You should come when we open." She knows by now he will, of course he will, and he'll bring her nicer flowers than her family will and everyone will be a little embarrassed by the gesture. But it'll be in a nice way, a comforting way, the way that friends are always gratefully embarrassed by the over enthusiasm they show each other.

Jeremy is pretty sure that's what they'll be by then. Friends. At least he hopes they still will be.

Christine looks at the ground while she walks, avoiding larger sticks and particularly muddy spots, and he can't imagine them being strangers again, if nothing else.

Jeremy realises she's speaking when she looks up and furrows her brow. "Jeremy? Yoooo?" She tugs on his sleeve. "You okay?"

"Sorry, I zoned out."

Christine sighs something partly fond, mostly exasperated. "That's what I'm saying! You always feel preoccupied. Like you're second guessing being here while you're here."

Uh-oh. Caught in the act. Best to come clean. "I'm sorry."

"Are you happy?"

"What?"

"Are you happy with me." It's not a question, not the way Christine says it, but Jeremy still can't believe he's being asked the same thing in a two week period. It's probably a sign.

"I'm incredibly happy,"

"But I don't think it's working out," Christine finishes for him.

"I've liked you for such a long time," he says apologetically, running his fingers along damp pine branches and looking anywhere but at Christine. She turns her head, finally, to see some joggers down the path, and he lets out a breath he didn't know he had. Christine hugs closer into his chest to let them pass and steps back almost immediately. "I don't think I was ever really prepared for the real thing."

"You're a nice boy, Jeremy Heere. I still really want to be your friend."

Jeremy's heart kind of speeds up the same way it does when Rich throws his arm around his shoulder and when Brooke pushes his hair out of his eyes to mess with him, and he wouldn't take it any other way. "Absolutely," he says.

They finish their walk chatting about the things they usually do, and the only difference is he doesn't try to take her hand, and he's less nervous about fucking it up. Of course he still fucks up, loses half his sentences and clarifies things nobody else would ever think needs to be clarified, and she still laughs halfway with him, halfway at him, and it still feels pretty nice.

 

Jeremy doesn't really want to go home when they're done and she leaves. He knows he'll just be jittery and want to leave again if he does, and right now he doesn't want to move, so he doesn't. He plops down right in the middle of the muddy soccer field and shimmies his phone out of his damp pocket.

 

TO: MICHAEL (1:15 P.M.) can you meet me at brookside

FROM: MICHAEL (1:25 P.M.) when?

TO: MICHAEL (1:25 P.M.) whenever but im already here

Michael doesn't answer for another five minutes, so he's either busy or already on his way. Jeremy slides his phone back into his pocket and folds his hands over his stomach, feeling it rise ever so slightly as he breathes. If his mom were around, she'd kill him for getting his clothes so wet and dirty on purpose. Well, knowing his mother, maybe she wouldn't, but he imagines any other mom would.

He vaguely hears a car pull into the parking lot and doesn't quite make the connection until footsteps squelch their way over to him. His eyes slid closed at some point, but he can guess it's Michael before he says, "Dude, you're laying in mud."

 

"Christine dumped me," Jeremy explains. "Well, no. That sounds bad. It was kind of a mutual thing? But she initiated the calling-off."

 

Jeremy squints his eyes open when Michael doesn't answer, and he's still standing over Jeremy, hands shoved in  bright red pockets. "Fuck, dude," he says.

Jeremy smiles up at him and brings one hand over his eyes, the other to blindly tug at whatever of Michael's clothes he can reach. "Don't let me be the only dumbass on the ground," he says.

"I don't wanna mess up my jacket. Let me just-" Michael grunts and Jeremy can hear fabric shuffling, and then the shadow above him disappears and there's a knee against his forehead. He opens his eyes to see Michael cross-legged beside him. "This is gross, dude."

 

"It's completely disgusting," Jeremy agrees, not making to move at all.

 

"Are you okay?"

 

"Surprisingly, yeah."

 

"I thought you were happy together."

 

"You can be happy and know it isn't right."

 

"Gabriel finally dumped me today, too."

 

"No kidding? Once and for all?"

 

Michael nods. "Even if it isn't, I don't want to go back."

 

"He didn't hurt you or anything, did he?"

 

Michael recoils and glances back at Jeremy. "What? No, of course not. Just fought a lot. What finally did you and Christine in?"

 

"She said I was preoccupied. And you know what? She caught me second-guessing being with her while she was complaining that I've been second-guessing being with her."

 

"She's such a smart girl, Jeremy," Michael croons. "I hope you're still friends."

 

"We are," Jeremy says, and neglects to mention that he tried to kiss her one last time, just to see, and she'd turned her head so he caught her cheek. It was soft and warm and lovely and still didn't feel like love. "I'm still gonna go see her in Little Shop."

"Oh, with the alien? I wanna go to that, too."

After a couple of moments of wet silence, Jeremy's mouth finally takes over. "I think I'm in love with you, actually."

Michael might actually fall over this time. Jeremy's eyes are closed against the clouds, closed against his pounding heart and looping fears, but the knee leaves his forehead and the ground squelches a little further away. "What?"

"I think I second-guessed Christine because I realised there was only you."

 

"This is kind of a lot,"

"I know," Jeremy apologises, "but I don't wanna panic about it anymore."

Michael doesn't sound any less breathless than he did a moment before, but it's coupled with concern when he answers, "I'm sorry you ever panicked about it at all."

"I might again if you don't give me some kind of answer soon," Jeremy tries.

"Gabriel was jealous," Michael says instead. "He said I talked about you too fondly to really just be your best friend and I told him I was sorry he didn't have someone he was that close to. And," he gulps, "I wasn't nice about it."

"You're nice about everything."

"Not when it comes to you, dude."

"I don't know how to feel about that."

Michael doesn't answer for a few moments too long, and when he does speak, it's to whine: "this mud is really gross and I can't feel my ass. Can we please finish this in my car?"

"Yeah, okay." Jeremy hoists himself up and slips when the heel of his hand finds slick grass. Michael offers him a hand and hoists him up with little difficulty, and on the way across the field he doesn't let go. He doesn't twine their fingers, doesn't squeeze any tighter, but he doesn't let go.

Michael's car is cold, and Jeremy's entire back is still wet, but it's better than just sitting in it.

"So he tells me I talk about you too much, and I get really defensive about it because I know I do, how could I not, you are the best thing in my life," Jeremy tries very hard to fight a blush. He's said the same thing to Michael before,over and over, but this feels more intimate somehow. "And obviously I'm completely in love with you. Totally lost. Ass over teakettle. Absolutely destroyed. Game. Over."

 

"That all sounds really negative,"

 

"I totally thought it was! But now here you are, and here I am, and-"

 

"And if we're both so smitten I can't figure out why we're not already making out in the backseat like the teenagers we are?" Jeremy tries, but his voice trembles and he trips more than he'd like to and Michael doesn't even tease him.

 

"This is kind of a lot," he says again, quieter this time.

 

"Why'd you date him if you didn't like him?"

"I did like him! I did like him. And I wanted to be over you. And it failed miserably." Michael leans a little too far forward onto the steering wheel and the horn blares. He jumps back, fumbling for the seat recliner, and yanks. Michael doesn't know what to do about being this flustered, Jeremy realises, like he can't remember the last time it happened to him. Freaking out has never been Michael's 'Okay'. Jeremy moves to do the same, shaking in his own quiet leaf-in-breeze way. Even in anxiety Michael's more boisterous than him.

"And here you are." Jeremy reaches for the hand grasping aimlessly at the side of Michael's seat, and he flinches for a second but doesn't pull away, letting Jeremy wrap their fingers together and rub circles with his thumb. Michael's hands are bigger than Christine's were, but only slightly, and they're not as soft, but they're definitely not unpleasant. Jeremy hopes that soon he'll stop comparing them.

 

"I love you." Michael says again, when he's calmer. The words sound foreign on his tongue. "I love you so much. I thought I'd lose you if you knew."

 

"You didn't think I'd abandon you," Jeremy mentally adds the 'again', "did you?"

"No. I thought you'd be so scared of hurting my feelings that I'd leave in frustration." Oh, God. Hearing Michael say 'leave' is a kick to Jeremy's ribs.

"How long have you felt like this?"

"A year at most, maybe. I don't know. A while." Michael does let go to sit up and look across the center console at Jeremy wanting desperately to look away and simultaneously never look anywhere else. "Would it be okay if I kissed you?" He asks finally.

 

Jeremy's breath hitches in his throat and he chokes out a 'yes' three octaves higher than his regular voice, and before Michael can mistake anticipation for hesitation and back out entirely, Jeremy scrambles upright and tugs at Michael's shirt. He barely has time to take his glasses off before their lips connect, and it doesn't feel like magic, really, but it does feel like everything Jeremy has realistically expected the right kiss to feel like.

 

Neither tries to move or deepen it any more, except that Jeremy releases his chokehold on Michael's shirt and moves his hands onto his chest - carefully higher up, closer to the shoulders than his chest, really - and Michael brings one hand to Jeremy's cheek, and they hold it that way, one long chaste kiss that still leaves Jeremy gasping like he'd run a marathon when he pulls back. "I love you," he says, and it isn't his mouth moving without him. They hold that, too, the awkwardly leaning over the center console to just kind of hold and be held, and Jeremy distantly realises that he was right. Michael is a touchy feely kind of.... Boyfriend?

 

"So does this mean that we're, like, gay? Together?" Wow, Heere, he groans internally, what an awful way to ask someone out.

 

Michael extracts himself from Jeremy's hold and looks at him for a moment before reaching for his glasses and wiping the fog off them. "I don't think it's a good idea right now."

 

Oh, man, Jeremy's never been more esta- wait a second. "No? What do you mean, no?" he scrambles for a less offended tone. "Not that- you can say no. I'm just. I don't understand why."

"How long ago did you realise you were into me?"

 

Jeremy decides not to count the fleeting moments of attraction he's felt their whole lives. "About a month. Maybe a little less."

"And we both got dumped today," Michael says. "It feels a little quick."

 

"Quick is okay," Jeremy tries. "Quick works out for tonnes of people,"

"I'm not saying no," Michael clarifies, a little shaky, and clears his throat. "I'm not going to kiss you and then say we can never be together. Just. Let's wait it out a bit, okay?"

"You don't think I'm. Like, you're not worried I'm gonna find out I'm not in love with you, are you?"

 

"Not really," Michael says, "but this is insurance. Can we be friends, just regular friends with feelings attached, for another, say, three and a half weeks? And then if you're still sure, we can be boyfriends. Be cheesey as hell about it, too. Like I'll find us those awful 'aye he's mine' shirts, and we'll wear them everywhere-"

 

Jeremy laughs, interrupting him. "What about those player one player two shirts?"

"Nah, dude," Michael shakes his head like he's put a lot of thought into it. Maybe he has. The thought makes Jeremy's heart warm unlike the way it does when Christine hugs him and Chloe suggests an outfit improvement without scoffing. "That's not ironic. We really are player one and player two."

 

Jeremy smiles, and reaches for Michael's hand for one final squeeze. "Three and a half weeks," He murmurs. "I'll. I'm still gonna love you then."

 

Michael smiles a fond sort of smile and shoves his shoulder. "Man, are you gonna be cheesey like this all the time? I didn't know my battle hardended zombie killing partner was secretly such a softie."

"Right, like you don't cry at cat videos."

 

Michael whistles. "Damn, dude. Low blow." He starts the car with a vague invitation to head back to his house and warm up, maybe switch into drier clothes and play a video game, and nothing has ever sounded better.

 

Three and a half weeks? That's nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It finally got gayer. I hope I did them justice.
> 
>  
> 
> I write my Michael as kinda more tense and guarded since the bathroom thing and thats something i definitely want to try to at least cover before they get together For Real
> 
>  
> 
> Fun fact: 'are we gay together' is something an ex boyfriend actually asked me when we agreed to date and it just felt very them.

**Author's Note:**

> HMU on tumblr @jaredkleinmanapologist to talk about these nerds.


End file.
